


Health to you, King

by Liaeling



Series: Into the Ends of the World [1]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault, Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Dancing with the Lion - Jeanne Reames, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liaeling/pseuds/Liaeling
Summary: "He had walked into the tent and said farewell to the King. Farewell in the early morning. A farewell instead of a greeting. In front of all the Bodyguards, Generals, Pages and Attendants. Like he was only now leaving the tent. Like he had spent the night there."
Relationships: Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great & Hephaistion of Macedon, Alexandros III of Macedon | Alexander the Great/Hephaistion of Macedon
Series: Into the Ends of the World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061774
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	Health to you, King

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be longer, but it ended up being quite short... 
> 
> IMPORTANT, READ BEFORE STARTING STORY:  
> This story was inspired by the (spurious-not-so-spurious) account of Lucian, where it is stated that before the battle of Issus, Hephaestion walked early in the morning into the King's tent and said "Health to you!", which actually means farewell or goodbye, instead of the usual greeting of “Joy to you!”. This implied that Hephaestion spent the night with Alexander and was only saying goodbye in the early morning.
> 
> Actual quote from Lucian's "A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting" (8):  
>  _Just before the Battle of Issus, as Eumenes of Cardia says in his letter to Antipater, Hephaistion came early into Alexander’s tent. He blundered or was confused (as I was) or was driven to it by some god when he gave the greeting: “Health to you, king,” he [Hephaistion] said, it is already time to set the battle-line.” The others present were upset by the strange address, and Hephaistion almost died for shame. But Alexander said, “I accept the omen. It has now promised us a safe return from the battle.”_
> 
> So, yeah... that was the inspiration lol
> 
> As always, as a side-note, these characterizations are not too close to the 'Mary Renault' or 'Alexander (2004)' versions, but more to the 'Dancing with the Lion' version. Just so you know.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The silence in Alexander's tent could be cut in two with a stroke of the sword. That was how palpable and  _ physical _ it felt. He was certain the whole army could march between the men in the tent and him and the silence would not break.

He felt color rising up his chest, slowly taking hold of his breath and making his head throb painfully. He looked up and down, trying to find something to focus on beyond the silence and pure shame he felt inside and around him. 

How could he have been so stupid? How could he utter those words so carelessly? Lack of sleep made him slow, but this was another level of witlessness. 

He had walked into the tent and said farewell to the King. Farewell in the early morning. A farewell instead of a greeting. In front of all the Bodyguards, Generals, Pages and Attendants. Like he was only  _ now _ leaving the tent. Like he had  _ spent the night _ there.

He  _ had _ spend the night, but that was not supposed to be  _ proclaimed _ .

He felt ashamed beyond repair. He was not worthy of his King.

“I accept the omen. It has now promised us a safe return from the battle.”

A mere whisper, but the cadence and tone spoke of something behind the sacred veil of his mind. Alexander was breaking the silence in an utter expression of devotion to his delusion of divine truth. Or maybe he was just trying to patch up his terrible mistake. He would never know with certainty.

Hephaestion couldn’t care less what Alexander thought it meant to the gods, he knew the  _ others _ weren’t so easily distracted by the rhetoric of omens and prophecies. 

He knew they  _ knew _ .

“Yes, Alexander. Nike is with us,” said Lysimachus confidently, probably trying to stop the embarrassing silence from taking hold of them again.

Hephaestion was looking down, eyes on the tent floor, painfully aware of every breath and smell, every small movement and nervous tick. He breathed in, deeply. He needed to take control of himself again, shame had no place in a battlefield.

“Bodyguards, see to your men and their formations. Eumenes, make sure you record Aristander’s reading of the entrails. Pages, to your regular posts,” Alexander issued orders back and forth, his sizzling energy finally rising and enveloping them all. There was no more time for silly blunderings or pointed looks, Darius waited across the Pinarus river. 

Today, they would fight under the eyes of Poseidon and Athena.

Hephaestion felt more than saw movement pass him. Bodyguards and Pages filed pass, getting ready for what they all hoped would be another of Alexander’s impossible triumphs. Outside, the rank and file were noisily setting formations, battle drums in the distance were slowly rising in sound above the din of men.

He was still looking at the tent’s floor when he saw a couple of small sandaled feet drag pass him and stop slowly, pausing to apparently shuffle some papers on his arms.

Hephaestion looked up and found Eumenes’ small, dark eyes set on him, a mocking smirk on his face. His back was to the King, and he kept shuffling scrolls with his head slightly dropped.

He was faking busyness. He just wanted to bask in Hephaestion’s shame a little longer. And he wanted him to  _ know _ .

Hephaestion felt color rising to his face once again, but this time around it wasn’t shame. He was furious.

“Thank you, Eumenes. We’ll see to today’s post after I win this battle,” Alexander said from across the tent, voice slightly higher than usual. 

Apparently, Eumenes thought he was a good actor, as most bureaucratic rats tend to think of themselves. But Hephaestion knew better. Alexander was sharper than most people thought him to be.

“Of course, my King.  _ Health _ to you,” he said slowly and loudly enough for the Guards outside to hear. His eyes never strayed from Hephaestion’s.

Hephaestion stuck his arm out quicker than Athena, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from Eumenes as he opened his arms in shock and fear of attack, letting all scrolls he carried fall to the ground.

Having gained the upper hand and taking his time, Hephaestion slowly fixed Eumenes' crooked right-shoulder brooch, making sure to look directly in the secretary’s eyes while doing it. He towered over him, being almost a head and a half taller than him.

“There, it’s fixed,” Hephaestion whispered in a velvet voice, dragging his vowels. “Make sure to record everything Aristander says, this victory will be a tale for posterity,” he finished with a smile, patting Eumenes hard on the back, making the small man stumble and take a hasty step forward with the force of the momentum.

Hephaestion watched as Eumenes dropped to the ground in front of him and retrieved the scrolls hastily, hands slightly shaky. When he had piled all scrolls on his arms, he rose and turned to Alexander, softly whispering “My King” before hurriedly exiting the tent in that rapid step of his that reminded Hephaestion of a small cellar rat.

“That was uncalled for and you know it,” he heard Alexander whisper, words barely loud enough to be intelligible. They were alone in the tent.

Hephaestion turned to look at him, hands on hips. Alexander was staring at him, head slightly propped to the left, chin up. There was reproach in his gaze, but Hephaestion also saw badly concealed amusement.

“His bashful disrespect was uncalled for, too,” he whispered, slowly making his way toward his King, arms dropping to his sides, “After all, he is just the Rat Secretary.”

Alexander snorted loudly, but quickly tried to hide it behind a cough. Their nickname for Eumenes had always been a source of laughter for them, ever since they coined the term back in Aigai, in one of Philip’s long sessions at the King’s Hall. They had been young then, creativity flowing freely through their veins. But Eumenes did not require much creativity to be likened to a rat, it simply required a sharp eye. And if Hephaestion did not have that to spare, Alexander did. The nickname had been easy to coin after Alexander noticed Eumenes had small, pale hands which he had a habit to rub together often.

“He is a good secretary, Hephaestion,” Alexander whispered, looking up at his beloved. “A bit cocky, but still good.”

“A bit disrespectful and with a head full of his own gas, you mean,” he whispered back, playfully poking Alexander’s gorgon-headed cuirass.

The King stared blankly at him, all playfulness gone in the midst of battle. He was looking at him but looking through him, eyes on his but mind on the battlefield. Hephaestion felt a sudden stab in his chest. Let these not be their last moments together. May battle be in their favour.

“We will win this battle, I know it,” Hephaestion whispered, voicing his wishes more than his thoughts. He was never as sure as Alexander. For him, the gods were more treacherous than helping.

“Yes… we will win this battle…” Alexander said, voice trailing, eyes glazing over with some vision beyond the tent. “And after, make sure to  _ greet _ me and not bid me farewell.”

Color rose quicker into Hephaestion’s head than lightning striking in a thunderstorm. He raised his hands and covered his face, painfully aware of the shame setting his blood on fire.

And before he had time to utter any words, all words left his mind at the sound filling the tent.

Alexander was laughing. He was actually _ laughing _ .

Hephaestion dropped his hands, mouth falling open in shock at his King’s reaction. All around them, the noise of men and animals clashed with the noise of metal against metal of arms being readied. The drums matched the sound of the sarissas beating the ground as the phalanx readied formation. Horses neighed, men loudly pissed in fear.

And Alexander was laughing at  _ him _ .

He hadn’t had time to protest when he felt Alexander envelop him completely, crushing his cuirassed chest against his. He held him close, grip tighter than usual. Hephaestion held him back, arms digging into the back of his cuirass.

His lover was still chuckling softly as they parted and looked at each other, eyes dancing with mirth, fear and glory.

“I’m glad you’re here and I’m glad you were here last night, too,” said Alexander, eyes sparkling with shared mischief. “But next time…” he paused, looking down.

Hephaestion stared, unsure what to expect from him. He felt his chest expand with a combination of pride, love and hope with every breath. If these were their last moments together in life, he knew he would arrive to Hades with a smile on his face.

“Next time, you might as well just stay in bed with me,” Alexander said from under lower eyelids, voice low and playful. “Now  _ that _ would be something for Rat Secretary to record for posterity”.

Later, in full formation and between tactics dancing in his head, Hephaestion chuckled softly to himself in the still-ringing embarrassment of the early morning. 

The night before a battle was always nerve-wracking. But now he knew, the morning after could be even  _ worse _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Side-note: Will be using "Hephaestion" instead of "Hephaistion" throughout the series, because... well...because I like how the "ae" looks lol


End file.
